I like to spend my days…bringing love into people’s lives.
Wait, what? That’smyjob.
My favorite books to read are…business books and nonfiction.
An entrepreneur?
The thing I care most about is…making ZodiaCupid, a Chinese zodiac matchmaking app, number one in the industry (launches on Valentine’s Day).
Bingo.
The name at the top readsB.O.B. Bob? Or…Bennett O’Brien? Apparently I’m a drunk algorithm wizard. I was able to figure out how to beat their system with a bottle of wine in me.
If this really is Bennett, there’s only one way to find out. Without a clear plan or time to overthink what I want to say, I send:Hi B.O.B., Something in the lunarsphere matched us up. Let’s meet.
I obsessively refresh my phone every few minutes in hopes that B.O.B. has responded. Finally, a message materializes below the one I sent.
Hello, Olivia. Nice hearing from you. A date sounds great.
I shudder at the thought of going on a date, but this isn’t for me. It’s for Lunar Love. I’m on a mission. Agent Olivia Huang Christenson, reporting for duty. It’s all suddenly much more real.
I tap out my response:Tomorrow too soon?
Chapter 5
I’m the first to arrive at the cooking school for my “date” with B.O.B. I claim a seat at the community table tucked against the wall of the classroom, situating myself in the middle so there are plenty of open chairs on both sides of me for my target—I mean, date.
After some back and forth, my idea of attending a baking class won out. Over the years, I’ve learned that clients feel more comfortable in first-date settings when they’re elbow deep in cake batter. There’s flexibility to be flirty, but if the chemistry’s not there, clients can focus more on their crème brûlées than each other. Plus, if the date is a bust, they still get dessert, the sweetest of consolation prizes.
Luckily, there aren’t any clients booked for dates here tonight, so I won’t be exposed. When there’s the opportunity to have the home field advantage, always take it. In my case, I won’t have to pay much attention to the baking part and can get straight to the grilling.
The classroom looks like a commercial kitchen with stainless steel appliances and workbenches, but the space has clearly been designed for private events and photoshoots. White subway tiles cover two walls in the room and a large chalkboard hangs on the other.
I examine the board so that I know what to expect for the next two and a half hours. In cursive pink chalk, I read: Mochi (Japanese rice balls with red bean filling), Bái Táng Gao (Chinese white sugar sponge cake), Dànta(egg tarts), Bánh Chu?i Nu?ng (Vietnamese banana cake), and Yuèbing (mooncakes). I’ve made two of the five desserts before, which gives me a small boost of confidence.
B.O.B. said he’d wear a salmon-colored shirt. Within minutes, two men and one woman arrive, all three of them taking seats at opposite ends of the table. No sign of him yet.
A few more students quietly walk in and fill the seats. Nerves start to get the best of me. Maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea. I’m acting like a lowlife parasitic organism that takes and takes without giving anything in return.That’swhat I’m trying to be?
Focus, Olivia! You’re here to find out information about your competition.
I’m rubbing my moon pendant for good luck when a man in a coral cashmere sweater who looks to be in his mid-thirties takes a seat next to me. He turns, and I find myself staring into the eyes of my enemy. Turns out B.O.B. was Bennett, after all. The stars and the moon have aligned. I can almost hear the sound of singing baby cupids. My plan to match with Bennett worked.
“You?!” we both say at the same time. I overplay my surprise, though his looks genuine.
“What areyoudoing here?” he asks.
“Are you B dot O dot B dot?” I ask.
He laughs. “I am. Bennett O’Brien. Are you O-L-I-V-I-A?”
I smirk. “Liv is short for Olivia.”
“First the bakery, now this. Either you’re following me or fate keeps bringing us together,” Bennett says.
He only remembers me from the bakery, which means he didn’t see me in the audience at the conference. I breathe out in relief.
“Why in the world would you call yourself B.O.B.?” I ask.
